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Blood poured from an open wound lacing the outing of tattered armour. Labored breathing pooled out into the night air as Talathiel staggered through the forest. She could still hear the screams of the army, of the soldiers…of the Grey Wardens. Their faces were burning into her mind as she continued to run. Her muscles were beginning to exhaust as she continued to push herself further. It was because of that human, Loghain, that most of her comrades were dead...that Duncan was dead. The sound of the horn would haunt her ears for the rest of her life. She felt her foot catch onto an exposed tree root and felt her body collide with the earth. She felt the darkness slowly creeping over her vision. There was no fight left in her body. She was tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

She knew that if she did succumb to sleep, that she would never wake again. Talathiel did not want to give up, and dug her hands into the ground. With the little strength she had, she pushed herself back to her feet and stumbled forward, catching herself on the tree’s trunk. She took gulps of air, filling her lungs with as much needed oxygen as she could before she lifted herself off of the trunk and began to run again. There was no time for rest. She could smell the flesh of the dead as they began to burn. The darkspawn were no doubted behind her and would catch up with her in the next hour or so. She noticed a few following after her when she broke from the group of Grey Wardens, however; she wasn’t certain if she lost them or not.

Talathiel came to a stop. She needed to rest, her body needed to rest. Either she would die by the darkspawn or by her own exhaustion. She didn’t want to die…not yet. She needed to get revenge on Loghain for his treachery. She never trusted humans before, and she felt like a fool for trusting them again. But Duncan had assured her that everything would be alright, that this battle was as good as won. There wouldn’t be the need for countless lives to be sacrificed for nothing. Then again, Loghain was supposed to provide support for the battle when the signal was lit.

He only showed that Talathiel should not have put her trust in a human. It was her fault that she carried the poison of tainted blood, and it was her fault for allowing herself to think that she could actually trust someone other than another elf. She continued at a fast-paced walk, pushing branches out of her way and clearing the small ones with her dagger. Her insides were burning as were her muscles from the exertion she was putting her body through. If she didn’t stop soon…she would kill herself. The amount of blood she was losing would also cause her to slip into oblivion.

She stopped, resting her shoulder against a tree before slumping down. She coughed, blood pouring from her mouth as it racked her body. She just wanted to rest now. This would be the perfect place to rest. The trees were bright, the sun was glaring through the holes, and the smoke in the distance was but a mere dot. She pulled the dagger from her belt and held it against her chest. She would rather be prepared than to die unguarded. Whether or not she would live this ordeal would be decided as she slowly felt the darkness cover her vision, unaware of the shadow that loomed over.

Black blood spilled from a ghoulish foe and stained the extravagant robe the warrior wore. As the beast fell into the dirt beneath him, the white haired man grimaced. With a face full of malice, he kicked the thing’s skull in. Spit flew, and curses did too.

“God damn abominations. I loathe Darkspawn.”

Alan Darkmare loathed a great deal of things, but the Darkspawn were quickly nearing the top tier of the list. This was Ostagar, Darkspawn capital of Thedas. The Templar had found himself atop a hill, where he could overlook a good portion of the battlefield. As he gazed at the sight; the shards of steel flashing against dancing embers, he couldn’t help but scoff at his thoughts. Blights. Yet another thing we can thank the Robes for.

The area Alan was in, for the moment, was calm. If you could count dozens dead, and even more injured as calm. He did anyway, and as he passed by a group of medical Mages, he stopped a man clad in the armor of his order. The young man had his back turned so the moment his commanding officer touched him, he jumped and grabbed for his blade.

The youth turned on his heel, weapon in hand ready for action, but two clawed fingers from the Knight-Captain’s gauntlet stopped that in it’s tracks.

“Calm yourself soldier. Do I look like one of them?” He pointed to a fell creature a few feet away. Still shaking, the young soldier sheathed his blade and nodded at Alan. “Atta-boy. Now, I want a report. You came from further down correct? Myles’ unit, by the looks of it.” Knight-Captain Myles’ men all had a sort of...green look about them, none of the kids seemed fit for battle. The sick looking boy nodded and saluted.

“Y-yes sir. I came from the eastern front...the Darkspawn there are tearing us apart. The King’s troops are still waiting for the signal from the watchtower,the Captain suspects the worst and has sent me here to spread word to the other units.”

Alan was giving the boy an assessing look. What he said was expected. Expected, but troubling. The news of the Darkspawn’s triumph was something that anyone who took a passing glance at the field could easily determine. There were too many wounded and not enough mages. He didn’t know why he was even here any more--Ostagar was a lost cause.

“What of the other sqauds? You know, Captain Cullen, Captain Drake, Loghain and the King’s men?” The boy’s face was overcast with despair. The Captain just sighed.

“That bad eh?”

“Captain Drake’s unit’s been completely wiped out, the Captain’s okay, but he’s hurt right bad. Cullen’s unit, or what’s left of it is patching him up now with some of the Mages. The King’s unit though...” He bit his lip. “I saw the whole lot of em’ cut down m’self.”

Alan was intrigued, “The King?” The youth shook his head. The look on his face had said it all. King Cailin was dead, the battle had been an utter failure. From somewhere far off horns had sounded--someone’s troops had left the battlefield. What the hell was going on out there? “Tell me boy, what’s come of the Teyrn Loghain’s troops?” The boy’s mouth had opened wide, and then shut quick.

“No one’s seen them sir, you don’t think the Darkspawn took em’ out already?” Alan's brow furrowed and his forehead wrinkled. That couldn't be right.

“The Teyrn drove out Orlais soldiers. He wouldn’t let a few cave dwellers kill him. But it is strange...” The battle was horrendous. He watched from afar as a group of men was slaughtered by a single Darkspawn warrior. A sight that was common affair here it seemed.

“Boy, I want you to send the word to the rest of our men, we’re getting the hell out of here.” The youth was shocked at the notion, a fire had sparked in his eyes the likes unwhich Alan had only seen a few times before.

“But Captain! The Darkspawn--”

“The Darkspawn have won. They killed the King, and if we stick around we’ll end up just like him. I don’t know about you, but I have much more life to live.”

“Captain...”

“Now boy.” Ice blue eyes had dimmed the fire in the boy’s soul.

“Y-yes sir. I’ll spread word immediately.”

“Atta boy.”

The young recruit seized a horse, and darted down into the thick of the war. With another deep sigh, Alan reached for the golden hilt of his blade that hung from behind his waist. The captain sniffed the air. And even amid the mounds of ruined corpses, and the burnt flesh of the Darkspawn, something reeked even more. Something was amiss here.

The front was pushing forward to where he was. He’d have to fight again soon.

"When people thin of darkspawn, they imagine hulking, marauding monsters and they are right. What they don't imagine is the smell, the very presence, as if they are twisting Nature itself. Few wars have a concrete right side. The War Against the Darkspawn is the exception."


Ostagar. Daylen was familiar with the ruined fortress. It marked the greatest extent of the old Tevinter Imperium, built as an outpost to keep watch over the Chasind barbarians. He had studied these ruins many times, searching for what secrets they may hold, under the watchful eye of the Templars he was obliged to take with him, fearing that he may unearth something dangerous or forbidden. Somehow, it was fitting that these ruins should now be overrun by the most dangerous, abominable legacy the Imperium left behind: darkspawn.

An arrow whooshed by his ear, missing him by the Maker's grace. Reluctantly, he expanded precious mana to form a shield around him even as he shot out a fireball into the ranks of genlock crossbowen, the explosion cleansing the world of those creatures. As a group of Hurlocks swarmed him, he unleashed a torrent of lightning to keep their deadly swords and even deadlier taint away from him. Scores of bodies littered the ground before him, but there were still too many. Senior Enchanter Galen and Knight-Captain Tristan lay dead somewhere amidst the darkspawn along with the rest of the mages and templars in his unit. He could not stay here. His gaze searched the sky for the Tower of Ishal and for a moment, his heart flooded with relief. The beacon was lit.

Then a horn sounded and Daylen's heart sank. It wasn't the triumphant, rallying sound of a horn signaling a charge into battle. It was a mournful, resigned sound signaling the retreat. He knew the difference. Everyone in Ostagar were taught the difference, even mages. So distracted by his despair, he almost didn't see the sword slashing towards him. Panicked, he leaped aside, staring into the souless face of yet another hurlock, wielding a tainted longsword. Quickly, he unleashed a cone of ice and frost, freezing the monster and several others before him before, at last, he took up into a run.

He ran through the forest, towards where he knew the bulk of the mages and templars were stationed. Frantically, he swerved and dodged hordes of marauding darkspawn, casting spells as they came too close. At last, he saw a face he recognized about fifty feet from him, Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare. Normally, he wasn't pleased to see him or a group of battle-ready templars. No mage did, but, as they wont to do, darkspawn changed things and it just so happened a large group of them separated him from safety, led by three emissaries no less.

"Human," said one.

"Mage," said the other.

"Kill, infect, enslave," the last finished, displaying the limited intelligence only darkspawn mages appeared to possess. At once, the horde charged and Daylen felt the last of his mana withering away as he cast his last spell.

"Ignite. Perussi totus." he announced in old Arcanum as he thrust his staff up, calling in a pillar of flame as the beasts howled in agony and defiance. When it was gone, Daylen knelt from exhaustion, relief flooding him. The emissaries were too slow. They.

He groaned in pain as a sickly green spell hit broke through his shield and hit his chest. One emissary remained, staff glowing sickly green. Daylen held out his own, but barely a spark fluttered up. His eyes reached the camp. Were there any near enough to help. His eyes caught Alan's, but they showed no fear. Just tiredness and curiosity. Would he put aside his prejudices to try to save him? Or would he leave him to die like this? Or maybe his hatred for magic and darkspawn would compel him to slay the emissary, no thought crossing his mind about him whatsoever.

He knew what would happen if he died. Men would talk as they often did and rumors would fly of how the templar as good as murdered him. Hatred would boil over on both sides and conflict would ensue, contributing to the neverending cycle of rebellion and suppression, binding the two sides in a bond of hatred and suspicion even as the Blight consumed these lands.

The emissary raised his staff over his chest, a crooked spike attached to the bottom. The emissary was indeed intelligent for a darkspawn, forgoing magic in order to kill him up close and personal, a malicious joy in its eyes. This one knew what was it was doing and was savoring it.

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"No, absolutely not." Her father ordered with such finality in his voice. Her family sat on the few scattered benches around the fire-pit just outside Keeper Zathrian's wagon.

"I want this and really it could benefit us all greatly. Imagine if I were to find something, something that would give us the knowledge we once held." Asania argued calmly, her hands placed neatly in her lap. She knew getting her point across would be difficult, after all her possibly leaving had never been brought up before this moment. Staying with the clan though, losing the purpose she had trained for since she was small, it had all been pressuring her lately. A short reprieve from everyone and thing could do her some good.

Her father gave a loud and rude snort. "So this is how you see it?" He asked, voice rising with each word. "Well, you know how we see it? Our young daughter, a talented mage with use here in the clan, is leaving us. She's going to galavant around, alone and blind. What if you were to come into trouble with humans? Or the gods forbid, the Chantry and their Templars? They will kill you before they allow the thought of returning to us to cross your mind." Suledin let out a long sigh, trying to curb his frustration. "You are not going."

"I am not a child anymore, I know that's not the case in your eyes, but it is true nonetheless. Besides, Zathrian believes that I may be able to see more than those with true sight can." She gave her father a reassuring smile, before nodding her head in her brother's direction. "Fen will be coming with me anyway." She could feel said man tense greatly at the mention of his name. Fen would have preferred to have their father realize his disappearance only after the twins had departed. Asania thought much differently.

The sound of a fist hitting wood filled the air before loud stomping was heard leaving where the small elven family sat. More calmly than her husband, Lath stood. "You are both precious to me." She began, making her way towards her children. She placed one hand on each of their shoulders before pressing a kiss to one forehead then another. "So make sure you return safely from this pilgrimage, your father and I will be waiting.

---

Their departure was quiet, the only goodbyes being from their mother, Zathrian, and The First who all prayed for their safe return and success with their quest. The pair had travelled quietly for a few moments before Fenlin spoke up. "So…where exactly were you planning to start?"

"I was thinking we head towards the Kokari Wilds. We could look through the few ruins that still stand there before backtracking and heading towards the Brecilian Forest where the clan is heading. Seeing us should put mom's mind at ease, at least until we leave again." Asania reasoned.

"…Fine, but we have to be careful. When the clan passed by the area a few days ago there were humans gathering in mass at Ostagar. Also Hetra had killed a darkspawn when out on hunt in that area so it seems they're also crawling their way out of the Deep Roads." With their plan in order, the twins continued on walking to the West. They knew they would be walking into a potential dangerous situation, they just never realized that it would be as bad as it was.

Drool flinging teeth were inches away from the Captain's face, with not a second to spare, he shoved the jewel encrusted scabbard of his blade in between the beast's jaws. Both of them fell to the ground, Alan falling on his back, the hurlock flying over him. From his position on the blood soaked earth, he could make out the inverted image of the Darkspawn, now free from his unscheduled meal, walking towards him, hammer in hand.

It cocked the massive steel weapon back, and with all of the might that lied within that muck covered, bumby being, he readied his strike and...

The ground beneath the Darkspawn had been engulfed in a tall circle of white flames. In the center was Alan, free of any harm. The beast and his weapon dropped down, and were engulfed in the flames of the captain’s Righteous Fire.

That was awhile ago. The hilltop had since become the new defacto camp for Alan’s templars. The troops were being gathered, and the retreat was now imminent. Word had it that Irving’s boys from the Circle were doing the same, preparing in another area for retreat.

“Leave the dead! We don’t have time to worry about mutilated corpses. Take their emblems if you must, but don’t spend anymore time than you need! Where the hell is Tristan and his men?” War was a fucking mess, nothing taught him that more than Ostagar did. At this rate, dying here would be a favor if it meant he’d never have to go through such grievances yet again.

Grievances. To Alan, that’s all hundreds of dead soldiers were to him.

“I said, where the hell is Captain Trist--”

A Mage came darting through the forest to the east, a trail of Darkspawn at his back. They were on his ass as if they held him accountable for some kind of vendetta. But that was impossible. Darkspawn lacked the capacity for emotions of that level. No, all they wanted from this mage was his flesh.

Alan watched, amused as the man conjured up a powerful burst of hellfire, torching the things to a vile little mess of crisps. He nodded, impressed, then turned his back. The man would no doubt seek shelter with his men, he didn’t have to stick around to greet him though.

“If Tristan’s unit is nowhere to be found then we’ll have to count him among the dead. That makes for all of the Templars that came here. Let the men know, we leave on my word.” A young man, the same from before was at his side, and nodded at the order.

“Yes sir!” He ran off.
“Captain!” Another soldier called. “The Mage needs help! Permission to assist!” Alan spared a glance at the mage yet again. He was on the ground now, an emissary inching ever closer. He would be dead in moments without intervention.

“Why do you care what happens to this man soldier?” He noticed that this was the same young man from Myles’ unit as before. Alan’s words appeared to confuse the boy, who looked at him with puzzled brown eyes.

“With all due respect captain, he’s a human being. I can’t just let him die!”

The fire was back in the boy’s eyes. It was even stronger than before. Alan looked back at the struggling Mage--he didn’t realize it until now. That man was Daylen Amell. Irving’s prodigy.

“Captain, please!”

“State your name soldier.”

“A man is dying captain!”

“State your name.” Alan’s voice was cold and absolute. The young Templar saluted.

“Ethan Potts sir!”

“Permission to assist Potts. Better hurry.”


“Thank you Captain!” The boy gripped his blade and ran to Daylen’s defense. Alan watched as the boy grabbed the emissary’s staff with his glowing white palm. White flames gathered at the top of the staff, and traveled all through it. The emissary fell back in fear, and Ethan shoved his blade through it’s heart.

“You’d best thank him Amell!” Alan hollered in a smug voice he was certain the mage had heard. Smiling wide, the captain turned on his heel and faced the surviving mass of his army. A few dozen, a pitiful number when one considered the huge number that this battle had started with. "See that our new friend the boy's bringing back get's a few doses of the good stuff. Put him to work, and keep an eye on him." Daylen Amell was a good mage. A very good mage. Even Alan could admit that. The road back to allied soil would be no easy path, sometimes one doesn't have the luxury of choosing their weapons.

“Templars, let’s move! I need a bath and a glass of wine once we get back! Somebody see to it!”

The group of soldiers let out a rallying cry underneath their captain's call.

---

Peace is an odd thing, so many strive for it, yet just as many oppose it. Fighting is the nature of Humans, Elves, and Dwarves, yet the Qunari have evolved past a desire for fighting, and only seek all-encompassing peace. Not the ephemeral lies that are written between Kingdoms, true peace. The Will of the Qun is absolute. The Will of the Qun is not subject to change. The Will of the Qun is all there is.

---

Talan had traveled to Lothering the day before the Battle of Ostagar, he had heard of the coming Blight, and of the Grey Wardens, but had no interest in it whatsoever. He was content with sitting at the Bar, flirting with the Bartender all day, a gruff man, wholly unamused by Talan's advances, but he didn't offer too much resistance. Talan's next stop was Denerim, the only place with a brothel that didn't smell like vomit, despair, and bodily fluids in Ferelden. However, all plans are subject to change when the Will of the Qun is involved.

Talan was watching the people of Lothering set up Refugee camps, as refugees were already fleeing from their villages near the Wilds. He was considering going back to the Inn, when Anaan barked to signal an Elven boy approaching. He held out a letter to Talan and said in Qunlat, "Talan, a letter from the Arishok."

Talan grabbed the letter from the courier and nodded to him as he left. The letter was written in Qunlat, and was clearly from the Arishok himself. The letter spoke of a band of Beresaad who were to find out what the Blight was. However, they failed and were killed. Talan was not Beresaad, but where they failed, the Arishok was sure Talan would not, seeing as they had very few agents like him, and he happened to be the only one with the right expertise in Ferelden. It was an odd request, unlike the Arishok, but the Will of the Qun was absolute. Talan was already completely prepared for the journey, so he immediately set out towards Ostagar.

With mixed emotions about what was to come, Talan walked the road south. He had time to think as he and Anaan traveled. Darkspawn were a think that Talan had no knowledge of, Orlais didn't have many tales about them, and the Qunari certainly didn't either. He had heard a few jokes about Dwarves that involved Darkspawn, none too flattering. He became more and more curious with every step he took. What could these Darkspawn look like? Why would they be attacking? His questions would be the Arishok's questions. The only logical course of action would be finding a Grey Warden. The brute force approach of sending a group of Beresaad failed, so Talan knew he would have to be more... subtle.

Less than a kilometer or so from Ostegar, Talan observed a large group of soldiers marching from the battlefield. Talan hid and observed for a moment. He could still hear the battle raging, and he could smell the blood and fear, yet these soldiers were leaving. Why? They were too organized to be deserters or to be fleeing, yet they didn't seem like a mercenary group that gave up either, there were simply too many of them. Even more questions flooded Talan's mind as he stealthily wandered amongst the trees as the large band of troops passed him by. He quickly moved out into the open after they had passed and gazed upon the field of battle. Lackluster lines of troops were set up in a horribly indefensible position as thousands of Darkspawn poured out, an untold amount simply charged forward, not intelligent or tactically at all. Whoever the tactician was in this battle was a fool. The Qunari would have been able to stand with half as many troops.

Talan had no desire to get involved, as he might die meaninglessly and fail his mission. He needed to find a Grey Warden, yet whoever was on the battlefield was most likely dead or about to be. So all he needed to do was fins a Grey Warden. He needed to find someone that knew the positions and status of the battle, the question was, who?

Daylen managed to stand up, using his staff as an aid. Ignoring Alan's smug comment, for the Knight-Captain had always been disdainful of mages and it fit with his personality that he would take another's actions as an opportunity to gloat. Still, Ethan Potts a genuinely good templar, one who had joined the Order for all the right reasons and treated mages like the creations of the Maker they were. He nodded at the templar.

"Thank you. Though, I fear we still have far to go if we are to survive this day," Daylen told the templar and Ethan responded in kind, helping him into the camp as he was given a bit of lyrium to replenish his mana. He gulped down the vial whole and smiled as he felt new energy surge through him. Trust templars to have an ample supply of lyrium, particularly on the battlefield. However, they never gave lyrium without cause and Daylen found himself set to work healing the wounded, which he did not mind. His eyes and hands glowed with power as he set to work healing who he could. He frowned, however, as he felt his magic overcome by an alien prescence in one wounded templar, however.

"He is Tainted. There is nothing more I can do. Only the Grey Wardens hold the cure for this," he told Ser Potts. The templar frowned, obviously distressed.

"The Wardens are gone, Ser Mage. The darkspawn slaughtered them along with the King and the troops," he told him. Daylen bowed his head.

"Maker, help us all," he murmured. The man panicked, of course. Thus, he was forced to sedate him with a sleep spell as his brother templars put an end to his suffering. What provisions they could take was loaded by now and Daylen took one of the spare horses for himself.

Alan watched with some irritation as several of his men fell to the taint. It wasn't losing them in particular that caused him ire, more so than losing them to the Darkspawn did. He was more than ready to leave Ostagar. Alan rode in the center of the pack of fleeing Templars, Daylen was further along in the back, he wanted the mage there should any surprise attacks occur. As they marched on Alan barked out his orders, and the men moved in perfect sync to his words. Even in all the chaos of the battlefield, the Templar Knights stayed vigilant. Survival was their motivator, and their captain was the catalyst.

"Captain!" One of the men called out. Alan reared his horse to a halt. "A survivor," At the edge of the trees of the Wilds, their sat a bloodied elvan woman. Though her beauty enchanting, the captain was prepared to let her die--until he took notice of the griffin insignia on her armor.

"A Warden..." The vague traces of voice escaped from his mouth. "Amell! Can you heal this woman? She just might be what we need." If the Warden's truly were gone after Ostagar, this woman might be the must valuable boon in Ferelden. A boon Alan was not about to let slip through his fingers.

Darkspawn. Darkspawn everywhere. Kithic sit in a crowd of bushes watching the battle unfold with a sad shake of her head. No way in hell was she going to be able to find the Grey Wardens now, if any of them were even still alive that was. She watched as the King was killed mercilessly and closed her eyes to the splatter of blood all over the field. The battle was not supposed to end this way. What happened to the troops that would help? No matter, even if all the Grey Wardens weren't all dead she couldn't stand around here waiting to be killed.

Moving quickly in the shadows of the trees Kithic kept her eyes on the Darkspawn forces with careful study. They were....unusually organized for Darkspawn. The ones she had encountered had been so barbaric and primal. They didn't think before. If they were showing even an inkling of intelligence now, that was extremely bad. Her eyes skimmed the field and made notes to write down in her book later. This would be an interesting case study, even if it meant something terrible was about to happen.

Just as she reached a small path leading away from Ostagar, a horn sounded signalling the retreat. This sparked the need to move even faster than she had been. People fleeing usually meant that the enemy would try and follow to kill even more, and if they were moving off the battlefield then they would surely find this wandering mage and view her as a snack. With a sigh Kithic started to run as quietly as she could.

Unfortunately the Maker had a sense of humor today and led Kithic right to a group of about five Darkspawn. They were eating a couple dead bodies which...Kithic found to be disturbing and gross. She was thinking she might be able to sneak past them when she caught her scent. Dammit. She didn't have time to waste on this. With a groan she gripped her pack tighter to her back and raised one hand. Before the creatures could register what happened she had spoken her words and shuddered as her hand was sent from body temperature to near freezing. Small price to pay considered the five things were now blocks of ice. A small smile and she was on her way again; the ice wouldn't last forever and she had no doubt they would be angry at losing the next meal.

The farther from the battle she went the more distant the sounds of the dead became. The fainter the smell of burning flesh. The easier it was to ignore that she had just watched a king being crushed and drained of his blood like he was a mosquito. Kithic shook her head and skidded to a stop at the edge of the forest. She hadn't been paying attention and had nearly run into a group of Templars. Swell.

She crouched down and stayed silent, her hood pulled farther over her head. It was easy to see the man in charge, he was barking out orders like the alpha wolf. The group was small, but not small enough for her to feel comfortable. She scanned the group and saw they were tired and bloody, understandable given the circumstances. There was a mage though... that may come in handy. If they had one mage with them perhaps they wouldn't mind another? She gave a small chuckle at the stupidity of the notion and looked to see what they were all so intensely focused on. If she squinted she could make out an injured woman, an elf maybe since she was a great deal prettier than any other human she'd seen and it LOOKED like she had pointed ears. It was her armor that made her more interesting though.

It took longer than it should have to realize what the symbol on the woman's armor was and she looked up at the sky to thank the Maker. A Warden. Kithic stayed crouched down and eyes trained on the group in front of her.

Talathiel’s world was a veil of black. She couldn’t see anything, feel anything, nor hear anything. Then, there was a burning sensation. It covered her body in a blanket of warmth as she felt her fingers twitch. Someone was healing her? Who would heal a corpse? Immediately, her eyes snapped open to the blazing glare of armour and soldiers. If she had not been quite as injured, she might have stood quickly with her blade drawn, however; the fevered feeling ran through her body like a hot knife searing her skin. Her hand still rested on the hilt of her blade, trying to pull it free from its sheath before she finally glanced around her surroundings. She noticed a small militia of men, standing around her as if they had just found a prize. She then noticed a human male standing directly in front of her, spilling magic from his hands and around her.

“Get away from me shemlen,” she spat, slapping his hand away from her as she did so. She then glared up towards the rest of the group before struggling to stand. She did not need the help of a mage, or any of the other humans for that matter. She needed to retreat further away from the battle field. The darkspawn would be marching soon and she would be in their line of march. She didn’t want to face the demons again and she was still wounded. Speaking of which, she thought as she placed her hand to her side. She was still bleeding as the liquid pooled into her hands. A breeze of air brushed passed her as she focused again on the army in front of her.

“And who are you?” she questioned as she stared at a man with peculiar white hair. As much as she didn’t want to be around humans, these particular armoured shemlen would provide the coverage she would need to survive the onslaught of darkspawn. Or at least escape and find a reasonable shelter to take home in.

Alan's robe fluttered behind him as a breeze wrought with the stench of charred and mangled corpses passed through. He watched sharply as Daylen healed the Warden, looking close for any signs of movement from her. And then, there it was. Slowly at first, she slowly regained her acquaintance with the friend called reality.

"Get away from me shemlen," The elf violently spat as she swatted the Mage's hand away. He didn't have enough of an opinion on the politics of elves and humans to let the clear disdain for his kind in her voice bother him. She maintained her bravado, even when she noticed the extent of her wounds. She turned to Alan now, "And who are you?" The Warden stared at him with powerful eyes worthy of her order.

With a slight smirk, he ran a finger through his once neatly combed hair. Ostagar had taken that too.

“I am Knight Captain Alan Darkmare, of the Templar Order, a pleasure, i’m sure. Miss Warden.” The Captain stepped closer to Daylen and the elf, “This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve got the reason to believe you’re the last of your fellows.” He grinned with all of his pearly whites, “That means, you’re an invaluable asset, someone I can’t let die right now.” Alan turned his back at that moment, slowly walking back towards what remained of his men, “I doubt you want to die yourself, you’d best let the shemlen do what he does,” He cooed before he mounted his white steed.


“I need a horse for The Warden!”

At once, a Templar leapt off his stallion and brought it to the woman. “The Plan’s still the same, we’re headed for the Wilds gentlemen!”